If You Can Fake It Here
by commander in blue
Summary: AU: Life in Roseville is utterly boring for Cammie Morgan. But when you witness a murder, get placed in the Witness Protection Program by the FBI, and have to start a brand new life in New York City— things tend to get a little interesting.
1. the trailer

_"if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere_"

---

**Life in Roseville was...**

"So, the movie theater plays IMAX movies now."

"Yup."

"And the mall got a new store."

"Huh. How about that."

**...unremarkable. At least for Cammie Morgan.**

"Is is such a crime that I'm the only one in this goddamn place who thinks there is more to life than drinking cheap vodka at the pier or swimming at Tina Walters' new pool?"

"She got a new pool? We should go!"

"Yeah...I'm out of here."

**But life gets a _little_ more remarkable when you witness a murder of a powerful crime boss. **

**And the killer sends his regards in the form of three hit-men. **

**And you get placed in the Witness Protection Program.**

**In New York City.**

"From this moment on, Cammie Morgan doesn't exist. To everybody outside these doors, you're Charlotte Piper. You attend Partridge Day Academy**. **You just moved to the city from Seattle with your mother. Understand?"

"Yeah, it's uh...well..."

"What is the problem, Miss Morgan?"

"I just never pictured myself as a _Charlotte_."

**With the guards...**

"I don't know who the hell you think you are, but if you think for one second I'm getting out this cab with you—"

"Look, I'm the guy who's gonna get his ass kicked by Solomon if you keep chatting up mobsters and jumping into cabs with strange boys."

"I'm in a taxi with _you, _aren't I_?_**"**

"Touché. But listen, Cammie Morgan or Charlotte Piper or whoever you're supposed to be right now: I'm the exception, babe. Always have been, always will be—_where the hell are you going?"_

_"_Jumping out of a cab. I wasn't listening, _babe_. Never started, never will. See you at headquarters_."_

**the new school...**

"Welcome to Gallagher! I'm Liz. Well, actually Elizabeth Lee Sutton, but everybody calls me Liz. You must be Charlotte! Oh, Professor Buckingham told us about you! Wow, you moved here all the way from Seattle? That's really far. 2841.12 miles, if you want to get exact. But, I hope you like the school so far! Gallgher is a really elite school, one out of two students here will get into an Ivy—"

"Good to meet you too, Liz."

---

"Hi, I'm Cam-_Charlotte. _Charlotte Piper."

"Like the Springs Management Pipers? Or the magazine heir Pipers?"

"No. Just Charlotte Piper."

"Oh."

---

"Look here, Charlie—"

"It's Charlotte, actually—"

"Uninterested. If you know what's good for you, you'll stay away. Far away. This isn't Seattle. This, _all of this_, is unraveling."

"Are you saying I'm in danger?"

"I'm saying nowhere is safe."

**the new life in the Witness Protection Program...**

"So, he—the killer— wants me dead."

"Correct."

"And he sent his goons here?"

"Yes."

"To find me? And then kill me?"

"Right."

"So, can somebody please tell me why the _hell _you all are just sitting around? Somebody out there wants me _dead_. And if you guys aren't going to do anything, _I_ will."

**Life just got remarkable. **

**Be careful what you wish for, Cammie Morgan.**

**

* * *

**

**an: gasp, a new story! gasp, one with a more espionage-based plot. gasp. gasp. gasp.**

**enough gasping, what are your thoughts on this mini trailer? the story will begin with cammie arriving in nyc.**

**like it? hate it? be sure to tell me about it :D**

**-- asha  
**

**ps: 'walking in glass slippers' will be updated soon, if i can upload my danged chapter. fanfiction and i are on the outs :/**

**pps: i finally finished 'heist society.' hale is a stone cold fox.  
**


	2. the lexington brayburn

For the record, none of this would've happened if Josh Abrams hadn't cheated on DeeDee Finch.

Because if he hadn't decided to slut it up with Tina Walters in a bathroom at Dillon Henderson's party, DeeDee wouldn't have ran to my house crying, where I had been avoiding all social interaction with the denizens of my school. If I hadn't attempted to be a good friend to a girl I could barely tolerate, I wouldn't have ran to the store at midnight to go buy her some Ben and Jerry's to calm her down. If they hadn't been out of ice cream, I wouldn't have ran another block to another shop.

If I hadn't gone in that direction, I wouldn't have heard the gun shot. If I hadn't heard the deafening noise, I wouldn't have rushed to see what was going on.

But most of all, if Josh Abrams hadn't cheated on DeeDee Finch, I wouldn't have been there to witness another gunshot, with the bullet blasting through an extremely well dressed man's chest. I wouldn't have caught the eye of the killer, staring me down with a steely blue gaze, seemingly memorizing every detail of my face— the only person to see him commit murder. I wouldn't have had to sprint as fast as I could home. I wouldn't have had to scream in utter terror while locking the doors and frantically calling the police while a confused DeeDee watched in confusion.

And it all whirled out of control from there.

So, here's to you, Josh Abrams. Thanks for ruining my life.

* * *

**The Lexington-Brayburn Building  
**

**1:29 PM.**

**---**

"We've arrived, Miss." The Witness Protection Program works in mysterious ways. For example, approximately three hours after I called the police the night of the shooting (Friday Night Fiasco, if you want to be charming), the cops handed me an a pristine envelope from the WPP— containing one plane ticket to New York City and the address '15th Floor, Lexington-Brayburn Building" and the ominous message to not tell anyone where I was going.

It turns out that certain people don't like sixteen-_almost-seventeen_ year old girls to watch them commit murder.

"Thanks, Walter," I answered the driver with a yawn. The old man had kindly escorted me from my airplane terminal to an inconspicuous 2006 Mercedes Benz—stylish enough to look like we belonged in Manhattan, but not flashy enough to garner any attention. If that didn't do the trick, I have a feeling that the gun I spotted under his lumpy old man sweater would. Like Officer Jimenez warned me in Roseville before I left, the people of New York City were never as they seemed.

He parked the car in front of the building, and I caught my very first glimpse of the new life waiting for me. The Lexington-Brayburn was, like the other establishments on the glitzy street, was very old and imposing. It was something between a Tudor and a skyscraper, with huge windows showing a very tiny glance into the lives of the very rich and fabulous. I'm not the best at math, but even I could figure out that you would need to be nothing less than a multimillionaire to even consider staying here.

And yet, here I was.

Walter opened the door for me and helped me out. "Your parents called," he said in a hushed voice, adjusting his Coke bottle glasses, "they've arrived safely in London. Some of our agents there are escorting them to Edinburgh as we speak." But what he really meant was _they're fine, relax._

I managed a smile, as well as somebody could who had their life threatened less than seventy two hours ago and still is threatened. "That's good to know." But what I really meant was _relaxation is a luxury I can't afford and you can bet your Mr. Rogers sweater that I'd rather be with them right now._

My response seemed to calm him. As I pulled my suitcase out of the trunk of the car (that's singular, the WPP advised me to pack lightly), I realized why I was sent here. The second I tried to walk on the side walk, it seemed like hordes of people surrounded me. Some going left, some going right. Everybody was so wrapped up in their own little worlds that they didn't notice the girl standing awkwardly with a suitcase, somebody who, in any other circumstance, would have stuck out like a sore thumb.

They sent me here because in a city of about eight million people in a very small space, it was going to be pretty damn hard to find one person.

"Are you coming, Miss?" Walter appeared at my side again, holding the door to the building open, the door to my new life.

I took one more look at the city behind me, with it's stampede of people rushing past. With a slight sigh, I grabbed my bag and walked up to the Lexington-Brayburn. Now or never. "Yes, Walter," I said with a tiny tinge of determination, "I'm coming."

* * *

**15th Floor Penthouse, Lexington-Brayburn Building**

**1:45 PM**

**---  
**

Like the rest of the Lexington-Brayburn, the elevators were at the height of extravagance.

With it's polished gold hued floors, smooth jazz humming from the speakers, and Frida Kahlo painting hanging on the wall, this was undoubtedly the best elevator I had ever ridden on. But, unfortunately, it was also the slowest.

In an attempt to make conversation with the only person in there with me, Walter, I mused, "This is a nice place, isn't it?"

The old man nodded with enthusiasm. "The _best_," he assured me firmly, "you can't find a better building than the Lexington. It has everything you could ever want. Exquisite rooms, state of the art facilities, wonderful hospitality—"

He was beginning to sound like a pamphlet. "So that's why we're here?" I interjected. "It's the safest building in Manhattan? Nobody can get me—"

"All in due time," Walter answered slowly, much to my frustration. "You'll find out everything soon enough." The impatience in me was coming out. The cops back in Roseville kept saying "_yes, you're going to be in the dark" _and "_yes, somethings you're better off not knowing" _or_ "yes, we will treat you like a four year old_" in response to any questions I had about the killer of the Friday Night Fiasco or why the hell I was going to New York while my parents were (arguably) safer than the witness in the UK or what the WPP was going to do.

If you ask me, if anybody should know anything about this, it's me, right?

But, I wasn't completely inept. Regardless of the countless safety measures and waivers and documents that my parents had to sign to release me legally to the WPP, all of this complexity only confirmed one thing for me: the murderer was not somebody to take lightly. As if anybody takes murder lightly.

Before I could try to weasel any more information about the case from Walter, the elevator made a tiny ringing sound and the doors slid open. "Oh, we're here," Walter said casually, as if he was walking to the park and not some very top secret headquarters.

I'll admit it, I was expecting something more than a narrow hallway leading to a plain door, unlike the ones we had saw on our way to the elevator. The only remarkable thing about the door was it had no locks. No key hole. Nothing. Nothing but a gold plated sign with the words "15th Floor" engraved neatly on it.

If my face showed any hints of confusion, Walter had caught it. "We're the WPP," he explained simply with a wry look in his eye, "we have other methods of entering a room." And, in the single most badass thing I've ever seen somebody over sixty years old do, he placed his hand on the sign and a light gleamed from behind it. The sign popped open to reveal a keypad, and he punched in a very long number into the system. With a satisfying hiss, the door swung open.

I made a move to follow him into the penthouse, but he stopped me. "Sorry, dear, but newbies have to register into the system. Security measure."

"Oh." Frowning, I studied the door. What did he even mean by that?

Walter laughed. "Place your hand on the sign, that's all there is to it." He paused. "And memorizing the passwords, of course. They keep changing it every blasted week, I'll have to talk with that computer boy..." he trailed off.

Following his instructions, I placed my hand gingerly on the sign. It was warm to the touch and I could feel the sensors scanning my hand. But, a small needle pricked my index finger, and I snapped my hand back—leaving droplets of blood on the shiny floor. "Ouch!" I cried out.

But, something distracted me from the pain at that moment. Not something, _someone. _An extremely beautiful woman with dark brown hair and piercing green eyes, standing at the door with a bored expression on her face and a cocked hip, and only one sentence escaped her full lips.

"You're late."

* * *

The 15th Floor penthouse was, needless to say, _huge. _It was decorated in the same way as the lobby—modern with a classic twist—and with one quick glance around the room, I could tell that there were multiple rooms. And if the state of the living room was any indication, this was a full house.

"I'm Abby," the woman said briskly, leading Walter and I to the large meeting table in the main part of the foyer and sat us down. "You must be Cammie. If you're not, then Walter is getting more senile than we think." Her stoic attempt at humor barely lightened the mood. It's sort of hard to cheer up while knowing your life is potentially at stake. But, my suitcase was was left my the door and my coat and scarf were still on. If she didn't want to waste time, consider her mission accomplished.

She must have sensed my feelings. "Sorry, kid. We're a little crunched for time. Your flight was supposed to arrive about—" Abby glanced at her watch. "One hour and twenty-eight minutes ago. Which means that we only have about three hours to debrief you and get you acquainted with the crew before Solomon arrives from Rio, and then he's has to get you up to speed with all of this school nonsense." Abby talked extremely fast. Something told me it had something to do with the fact that there were five empty coffee cups in front of her.

Talking fast or talking slow, I would have been lost either way. Being thrown into this clandestine sort of life where you need to have your blood drawn to enter a room was not exactly my forte. I mean, two days ago I was stuck in Roseville, waiting for something major to happen, for my real life to begin.

I just hadn't imagined it would end up with me in New York City, forced to leave behind my entire home and family and trust a group of strangers—which at the moment consisted of a caffeine hyped beauty and an old guy.

Just my luck, more oddities were added to the group. This time it was a boy, my age, I'd guess. He was very tall and gangly, with brown curly hair that stuck up in almost every direction and glasses placed haphazardly on his nose. But what got me was the fact that he wandered into the room like he found it by surprise, with the air of somebody who usually wasn't included. At least, that's what I saw.

"Hey," he said lightly, taking the seat next to Walter. The boy didn't even skip a beat as he said to me, "you're Cammie Morgan. Born on April 13th, 1993. Age sixteen. Average GPA of 3.75 for high school. Blood type AB positive—"

Abby cut him off. "Jonas, you have got to work on your social skills." The boy, Jonas I presumed, blushed and smiled sheepishly.

"You told me to find out everything I could about her, right?" he told Abby.

"I didn't tell you to freak her out. Didn't I say that?" She turned the attention to me. "Look at the poor girl," she mused, "she looks like she's about to keel over. Hell, I would too if I was dealing with people like...never mind. Can I get you anything? Coffee?" Before I could answer, Abby was already making a beeline for the kitchen. "Coffee it is." _People like what_, I wanted to ask. But I stayed silent and kept my head down.

As Abby left to go get refreshments, another woman strolled in to the living room carrying a thick stack of papers. Like Abby, she was gorgeous, but a few years older at most. "Hello," she said smoothly with a polite nod at me. "You must be Cammie, nice to see you got here safely. I'm Rachel." She beamed at me and I felt like I could die of humiliation. The look in her eye was unmistakable: determined with a significant amount of pity.

"Yeah," was all I could manage to sputter out.

"How was JFK airport?" she asked Walter conversationally. "I hear they implemented a new security system three months ago. How did you manage to get the gun in?" Man, she must've been telepathic to know that, because her eyes were focused completely on her papers.

But, Walter smiled that crinkly smile of his. "Oh, Rachel. Don't you worry about it. I'm not as old as I seem." With all of the truths that have been hidden from me these past days, it was nice to know that even the most seemingly trustworthy person here was able to keep up.

Abby returned with a tray of coffee, some mugs, and more than enough cookies to feed an army. Hardly what I had in mind for a group that was employed by the government. Walter, Jonas, and Rachel began grabbing the food with extreme gusto. Taking the seat at the head of the table, she opened a manila folder and looked like she was about to make a speech before she frowned.

"Where," she said slowly with the tone of somebody trying to stay very calm, "the hell are the _other two_?" I assumed Jonas was truly the man with all the information because she directed the question towards him.

Jonas shrugged. "They said they were tailing a person of interest on the lower west side." I wanted to know who _they_ were, but so many of my questions have gone unanswered that I didn't feel up to it.

Abby scoffed. "Their definition of of a _person of interest _hasn't been reliable since that mission in Cairo."

"To be fair, he didn't know that she was the ambassador's daughter," Jonas protested. "And you have to admit, the hotel alarm systems needed an update anyway."

"Are you also forgetting the time they were sent to bug a member of the Secret Service and ended up going to a concert?" Abby added dryly.

Walter, on the other hand, found this exchange of past _missions _(God, this was getting more ridiculous by the minute) amusing. "I recall that week in Paris, where they stole a taxi cab and unknowingly picked up the wrong man." He chuckled slightly. "Oh, it was a beautiful day..."

Rachel smiled at the memory. "The man they picked turned out to be a hacker who was giving the CIA database quite a hard time," she told me, "so it wasn't that much of a waste." My heart was beating quickly now and suddenly the room seemed to lose oxygen.

What had I gotten myself into? Part of me wanted to run away from people whose idea of a mistake is picking up the wrong criminal in a stolen taxi cab, the other part of me was so intrigued with their (from what I put together) globe hopping lifestyle. I wasn't in Roseville any more, better get those ruby slippers ready.

As if on cue, the doors of the penthouse burst open once more. This time, it was a boy and a girl talking animatedly and looking like, well, just two teenagers who happened to find their way into a luxe Manhattan building. The girl drew my attention first. She was pretty in an effortless sort of way, with her dark hair piled on top of her head and caramel colored skin that looked like it had to be airbrushed. The guy was an entirely different story. I've seen _hot_ before in my life, trust me. But never in the form of a tall, dark haired, hazel eyed guy who seemed perfectly conscious of how good he looked.

Seriously. Between these two and Rachel and Abby and hell, even Jonas (if you were into the geeky cute look), the level of freakishly attractiveness in this room was astounding.

Instead of joining the (growing impatient) table, the pair were wrapped up in their own conversation. For a split second, I hated the immense space of the room—it only made it harder to hear far away.

"Please," the guy pleaded.

"No," the girl responded sharply in a thick accent. British, I'd guess if I could hear her clearly.

"Please."

"No."

"Please."

"What part of _no _don't you understand? Get your head out of your ass and maybe you'd hear something for once," she retorted. He tossed a cell phone at her, to which she expertly caught in mid air and chucked it back at him with double impact. "I'm not going to break up with your girlfriend over the phone for you—"

"She's not my girlfriend!" the guy said exasperatedly, "she's just enchanted by my masculine charms, is all. Consider her more of a stalker."

She snorted. "Masculine charms?"

He grinned at her mischievously. "Humor me. And please," He grabbed her hand and shoved the phone into her palm, "_get rid of her_."

The girl sighed with defeat. "You do my laundry for a month, pay for any movie I want to see, and spring for takeout for the rest of the month, understood?" Before letting him answer to her conditions, she dialed a number and added, "Should I be the angry girlfriend you have back home who's just discovered your cheating ways or your stepsister who's absolutely devastated because you got into a freak motorcycle accident and damaged your vocal chords?

He shrugged easily. "Surprise me."

Eventually, I diverted my attention away from their _interesting _conversation and back to the table. In the most words I had spoken all day to anybody there, I squeaked out, "who are they?" I had been going for cool indifference, but ended up with a mix of eagerness and overacting.

Abby broke out in the first smile I had seen all day. "_They_," she began, her voice dripping with a mix of ennui, amusement, and worry, "are Rebecca Baxter and Zachary Goode." Before the names could fully sink in, she continued.

"Your bodyguards while you're here."

Oh, shit.

* * *

**AN: thank you all so much for the reviews for the trailer! i hope this chapter doesn't disappoint.**

**this story is going to move fairly quickly, i plan on writing cammie starting school in the chapter after the next.**

**so, bex, zach, and jonas are pretty much bffs who work together. you'll find out about their history in the next chapter, along with more details of the murder cammie witnessed. rachel and abby are, you guessed it, not related to cammie in anyway at all. consider them just spies. consider them all spies.**

**and walter is a cool old man. every story needs one of those.**

**liked it? hated it? be sure to tell me what you thought :D**

**--asha (:**

**eta: zach has hazel eyes in this story? why? i like my guys with hazel eyes. and because that rhymed.  
**


	3. the hostile makeover

**15th Floor Penthouse, Lexington-Brayburn Building**

**2:45 PM**

I was going to have a serious talk with the head of the Witness Protection Program.

Now, I don't know whose idea of a cruel joke it is to send somebody who is presumably being hunted by a killer (me) to New York City, under the protection of a boy who was currently taking apart a cell phone and turning into a tracking device, an old man who was thoroughly absorbed in his crossword puzzle, two women who look like they should be modeling or attending the Oscars, and a guy and a girl who looked utterly bored with events at hand— but I'm not laughing.

I consider myself to be pretty damn cool under stress, but this was too much. My parents were in Europe. My friends have no idea where I am or what's going on. I wanted excitement in my life, but by government hands.

"Oy vey," Abby murmured, looking as frustrated as I felt right now, "where were you two? Bex?"

The girl—Bex, was it?—took a long sip of her coffee before answering. "We were tailing a suspicious man all over this bloody city," she explained.

"Suspicious?" Rachel queried. "Suspicious how?"

"Well for one, he was standing around terminal 5C at JFK airport for approximately two hours." She turned to me. "_Your _terminal, I'm assuming." I nodded my head slowly, slightly taken aback by her accuracy. "No suitcase or ticket. He didn't look like he was waiting for anybody. He left. So, we followed his cab to a cafe. A high class one, mind you. We grabbed a booth there. Again, he wasn't talking to anybody at all. He just looked like he was waiting, like he had missed a deadline or something—"

Jonas interrupted. "Descriptions? Maybe he matches with somebody in the database."

The other guy cleared his throat. "6'3. 176 pounds. Designer suit, Italian loafers, Rolex watch—your typical Wall Street sort of guy."

Jonas whistled. "You're good Zach, but you're not _that_ good. You can't have known his height and weight just by looking at him."

Zach grinned and pulled a brown leather wallet out of his coat pocket. "Well," he began, raising an eyebrow in my direction, "it doesn't hurt to grab his wallet while he's not looking."

Before Jonas could look over the goods, Abby snatched the wallet up and slid out the ID. "Frank J. Luca. Age thirty-nine. Resident of New York." She clicked her tongue. "Not a donor." I didn't know what any of this information meant, I was still sort of in shock that Bex and Zach were perfectly fine trailing 'suspicious' people around the city. Maybe I shouldn't have been that surprised, considering the stories exchanged about them before.

Abby tossed the wallet in the air. "For such a well dressed Wall Street man, I'd expect him to have more money in here."

Bex directed a glare at Zach. "Told you she would notice."

"What?" Zach chuckled. "Think of it as compensation."

Bex and Abby continued to discuss the day's events, mentioning something about how she should have put a tracking device in his pocket while Zach nicked the wallet. But, their tone wasn't exactly serious, because I guess having the guy's contact information would have to suffice. For a moment, I wish I could have been in the loop instead of being the center of it.

Jonas, however, lost interest in the wallet quickly in favor of another topic. "So, which girlfriend were you breaking up with today, Zach?" he joked. _Which girlfriend? _As in, plural? I was going to go out on a limb and assume that hooking up with girls wasn't part of the job.

"_She wasn't my girlfriend_," Zach groaned, "and if you must know, it was the girl from Spain."

Jonas let out a loud laugh. "Belisa from Barcelona with the big—"

"_Alliteration?_" Bex cut in with a snort. "Stay classy, Zach." I had to suppress a smile. Employed by the government or not (for reasons unknown to me), they still seemed so _regular. _I mean, if you can ignore the globe hopping and being my bodyguards. I've lived in Roseville my entire life, where the most exciting thing to happen is Tina Walters' birthday bashes, and right now, I have never been more intrigued with people around my age. Ever.

Before Zach could defend himself, Rachel cleared her throat authoritatively. "Perhaps," she began, looking pointedly at Abby, "we should get on with this meeting." Abby nodded in agreement and brought her manila folder out again.

"Let's get this show on the road," she started. "Everybody, this is Cammie Morgan. Two days ago, she witnessed the murder of Louis Helms in Roseville, D.C. As you all know, Helms has been regarded as a chief crime lord in the underground circuit. Murder, extortion, he's done it all. " The group nodded like this was all trivial knowledge, but I could feel my stomach drop. Because knowing you witnessed the murder of somebody who was very likely to be an expert in that field was nothing short of terrifying.

On the plane ride here, I had been in a daze thinking about the man who was killed. I wondered if he had a family, a job, just what his life was like. Now, I wasn't too sure that calling him a _victim _was appropriate.

Judging from my clammy hands and short breath, my body agreed with me. This is the information that I had so desperately wanted. So why was it so hard to take? "...About a day after the shooting, three men were released from prison on bail. Jack and Mark Surrey and Vern Seward, all there for having a hand in of E. M. Wilson." More nods from the group. More nods on my side.

"Now, we don't know if they're in the city, but we _do_ know that they have a grudge against Helms for reasons currently unknown. Their release is being investigated right now, but our only lead is that whoever bailed them out must be loaded. Sources tell us that they may have had something to do with Helms' murder." Abby inhaled.

"As Cammie told the police officers, the killer did in fact see her and I'm willing to bet this penthouse that the killer is going to send the Surreys and Seward after her. Roseville is a small place, it's easy to match a face to a name. We have word that Seward was making some inquiries into the Roseville High roster. So, for her protection, she will be staying with us." Her voice was entirely too light to be saying this, until I remembered that the passiveness in this room was not due to disinterest, but to desensitization. They were a section of the WPP, they deal with this on a daily basis.

"As I said before, Zach and Bex will be your bodyguards—" She gestured at the two of them. Bex gave a two finger wave and Zach smirked a bit. Abby must have detected my skepticism, because she added quickly, "and if they weren't the best, we wouldn't have assigned them to you." I let out a small sigh of relief.

"Jonas is our tech and tracking guy, he knows police and government databases like most people know their phone number. Walter, Rachel, and I are gathering as much information about this case as possible and we're going to make sure that your new identity is airtight. Joe Solomon is the head of this case, so he's the man to see if you have any problems." She looked to Rachel. "Think I covered everything?"

"I think so," Rachel said, "so now we need to get to number two on our agenda and the most important: concealment and disguise."

Out of all the questions I could have asked during this spiel—_how could the killer identify me? Who are your sources? How do you know all of this?_—I had to ask this one. "What's that?" I asked, hating myself in the process.

Bex turned to me with a huge grin. "Makeover."

* * *

**Bex's Room, 15th Floor Penthouse, Lexington-Brayburn Building**

**5:58 PM.**

Three hours later, I couldn't recognize the girl in the mirror.

If they had meant to completely get rid of the image I had in my head of myself, they succeeded. Armed with scissors, hair dye, and a tackle box full of things that were sure to be contraband, Bex, Rachel, and Abby had transformed me.

My mid-length light brown hair was cut to my shoulders and dyed a dark brown. My blue-green eyes were covered up with brown contacts. Bex had done something with my eyebrows that included a small needle and some thread (it didn't hurt at all, surprisingly). Abby had gave me some lip gloss that made my thin lips slightly fuller. When I asked if it was like plastic surgery, she laughed and said this is the stuff that plastic surgeons _wished _they could use.

If you had taken a picture of my three hours ago and one now, there could be absolutely no comparisons made. They had made me into a new person.

"Hey, stranger," Bex greeted, entering the room. I was so wrapped up in my new appearance that I didn't notice that I was actually in her room. The room was spacious and painted a bright yellow. Posters of countless bands decorated the walls. The furniture looked like it had to be straight from a thrift store, which the plasma screen TV instantly negated. It made my room back home look so boring. Then again, Bex did the same thing to me.

"Bex, hi," I said awkwardly. Bodyguard or not, I didn't know her all that well and the idea of sharing a room with her was sort of rattling.

She plopped down on her unmade bed. "Sorry I couldn't properly greet you. Abby likes to run meetings like she's in the army or something."

"It's cool."

Obviously my answer didn't suffice for her, because she asked, "so, how are you feeling? This all must be..." She paused, thinking of the correct word. "...very weird." She didn't know the half of it.

Weird? This was my definition of _freaking bizarre_. "It's different, I guess." I took her silence as a cue to go on. "I mean, yeah, I was a little shaken. But I can't complain. I'm safe. At least right. And in _Manhattan_. My friends—" I choked on that word. I didn't consider many people in Roseville High my friends, save for DeeDee. But I could only take the girl's perkiness in very, very small doses. "—would die if they knew."

"Yeah," Bex said with a sigh, "I'm pretty sure a lot of people would die over this." I had to bite back a gasp, and I felt the sinking sensation in my stomach again. She saw my horror struck expression and laughed. "I was joking."

I started unpacking clothes at the speed of light, if only to cover my blushing cheeks. "I know." I wonder if she knew that she was a bit intimidating.

After a few moments of silence, I felt like I had to say something. Turning the question tables on her seemed like a good idea. "So, Bex. How...old are you?" This question may have been pointless, seeing as she looked to be the same age as me.

"Seventeen," she stated simply. Practically reading my mind, she added, "Zach and Jonas are too. You're sixteen, aren't you?"

"Yes." I wanted to brush that little detail away. Time for the bigger questions. "And if you're seventeen, how do you..." I trailed off, not knowing how to finish that question.

She raised an eyebrow. "Work for the WPP?" she finished. I nodded. "The three of us were recruited. A lot of paperwork was involved, let me tell you. But, it's pretty easy to fake a birth certificate."

"How do you get recruited?" I asked, not even bothering to hide my curiosity. So much for being blase and cool.

Bex cleared her throat, and I could tell it was going to be a doozy of a story. "Well, I wasn't the most well behaved student at my school. You know, the usual. Cutting class, picking locks, taking teachers' cars out for joy rides, forging my report cards..." She frowned. "Okay, maybe _the usual _wasn't the best way to put that, huh?" Talk about the understatement of the year.

"I was just so _bored _with everything_. _The coursework was ridiculously easy, advanced classes included. It was hell at that school, being forced to spend the day with absolute morons. I wanted an escape." Now that resonated with me. It was exactly how I had felt in Roseville, minus the crime. "But one day, I tried to steal the wrong car."

"Whose car?" I asked slowly.

"Abby's. Her car was the same as my chemistry teacher's." Bex snickered at the memory. "Needless to say, she was pretty pissed and actually marched me back down to school to the dean of discipline. He wasn't surprised to see me, by the way. I was a permanent fixture there. He pulled out this huge file with all of my misdemeanors on it, including all of the forging and lock picking. Abby said she'd talk to my parents later. Instead, she sent me a letter."

Awestruck, I sputtered, "A letter of what?"

"A letter asking me if I'd like to join the junior division of a government sect involving crime solving. Which later turned into working with her at the WPP. I guess she was impressed." She sighed and lied down on her back. "Talk about excitement, eh? My parents think I'm at boarding school."

Hell, I was pretty damn impressed. I didn't even know there were sects of the government like that, it was absolutely mad. "And Jonas and Zach? How did they get recruited?" I was almost afraid to hear their stories.

"Well, Jonas' story is less fabulous than mine, darling," she said with a posh accent, "He got busted for sending a series of nasty viruses to the CIA computer database."

Was that her definition of _less fabulous? _That was my definition of awesome. "What did they do? How mad were they?"

"Mad?" she snorted. "They practically _worship_ him in the computer department over there for managing to bypass the system and other tech-y stuff like that. Jonas not joining the CIA or WPP would be more of a crime."

"So, you're all part of the CIA?" CIA meant espionage. Espionage meant spies. Was the teenage girl in front of me really a spy?

"If you want to get technical, yeah. We all had to go through training together in Langley. But we work for the WPP." She paused. "Shit, I'm not sure if you're supposed to know that. Oh well." Before I could get swept up in asking even more questions about joining the CIA at such a young age—because honestly, _that _had to be the most badass thing ever—I forced myself to ask about Zach.

"And Zach?"

Bex hesitated for a minute before answering. "I know a lot of things about him, but I don't think he's ever told me how he got in here. Or anyone. I just never knew that about Zach."

"What don't you know about me?" Speak of the devil. Zach casually strolled into the room like he owned the place, flopping right on Bex's bed, much to her displeasure. Judging from the conversations about Belisa from Barcelona and just his overall aura, many girls would probably kill to be in her shoes at that moment.

Bex rolled her eyes. "I don't know why you think you can just come in here without knocking," she growled. She aimed one swift kick aimed at his chest and Zach toppled to the floor. After feigning pain (I hope he was feigning pain, that look like it hurt), he walked over to the chair next to my bed and sat down.

"Don't let her corrupt you, Cammie," he advised wisely. His face was dead serious, but his eyes were playful. The only boy I ever described as hot was Josh Abrams, and he was sort of an asshole. Zach was on a completely different level than him, I could figure that much right off the bat.

"Is there a reason you're here?" Bex said testily. "Besides to annoy the hell out of me?"

"What, is it such a crime to come visit my dear friend Rebecca and my new dear friend Cameron?" He placed a hand to his heart and turned to me. "I hope you're not as mean as Bex. I don't think I can deal with anymore crazy estrogen in this house."

To my surprise, I managed a grin of my own. "Don't count on it." Bex gave me an air high-five, which I returned with glee. At least I was back to acting like a functioning human being.

He stood up from the chair. "Oh, well. It was worth a shot," he said with a smirk. "But anyways, Solomon is here and he wants to fill Cammie in on this school business." He said the word _school _like most people would say _snot_.

Bex hopped up off her bed. "Time to meet Old Wise One, eh?" She gestured at me to get up as well. "At least he's easy on the eyes," she murmured. I took one more glance in the mirror at my new self. The change would be hard to get used to, that much was sure.

"It's not permanent, you know," Zach said, startling me. I guess I didn't realize he was waiting for me.

I sighed. "I know."

"Nothing's ever permanent," he added cryptically with a shrug, walking out of the room without a second look in my direction. _Nothing's ever permanent_, I repeated in my head as I made my way back to the living room.

For my sake, I hope he was right.

* * *

**an: yay, an update that's pretty close to my last update. i feel like a loser for celebrating that :P**

**school is next. here's a hint: any major canon character that hasn't been introduced yet will be in the next chapter.**

**hope you all liked the chapter. be sure to tell me what you thought of it!**

**- asha (:**

**ps: for anybody out there who watched the latest episode of _skins _(effy's episode): WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT? i am still in shock over the ending. season finale in next week!**


	4. the gallagher academy

**In the back of a limo.  
**

**Upper East Side  
**

**7:23 AM.**

**---  
**

_**"Name: Charlotte Nadine Piper**_  
_**Age: 16**_  
_**DOB: 6/17/1993**_  
_**POB: Seattle, Washington, USA**_  
_**Parents/Legal Guardians: Anthony Piper (father, deceased); Ella Davens-Piper (mother)**_

_**Previous Schools Attended: Kingsdale Public School, Brimmington Preparatory School, Elsingfield Magnet School, North Day School.**_  
_**Current Grade: 11**_  
_**Average GPA of High School Years: 3.95**_

_**Current School Attending: Gallagher Academy"**_

"Remembering your cover, are you?" Bex's raspy morning voice broke my concentration as I studied the paper in front of me. As promised, Joe Solomon had caught me up to speed with everything I needed to know to attend my new ritzy private school, the Gallagher Academy. Also as promised, he was every bit as good looking as Bex said, which explained the fact that the three of us were in a limo that the lady at the car rental service practically gave us for free.

Plus, it didn't hurt to arrive in a limo on my first day.

This city, at least the part where people driving around in limos were commonplace, still amazed me. Everybody was just so busy and wrapped up in their own little worlds, still strutting to work despite the pouring rain.

"Some of the information is off, of course," Bex continued, "but Charlotte and Cammie are two different people. They can't ever be too similar, remember that." I was glad that Bex was escorting me to my new school, and I assumed that as my bodyguard, she'd stay with me throughout the day. Having somebody on your side as with looks and muscle like hers was an advantage.

Solomon didn't look up from his own stack of papers as the limo made our way through the crowded Manhattan streets. His blood shot eyes from jet lag only made him seem more rugged, more attractive. Until I remembered that he was no where near my age, of course. His arrival cemented my idea that everyone in the WPP was not bad to look at. "Miss Morgan, we will be at Gallagher in approximately eleven minutes. It would do well for you to memorize that piece of paper given."

"Yeah," Bex added, "it took me forever to come up with fancy sounding private school names. You might as well have gone to Hogwarts." I tried to laugh her joke, but my throat was completely dry. It hadn't hit me yet that this was all real and it wasn't some crazy dream. I was in the Witness Protection Program. I'm in disguise. Now, I have a whole new identity to take on and I wasn't sure if my stomach could handle it.

I mean, _Charlotte Piper_? They could have given me a badass new identity. "Charlotte" screams proper, pristine, _perfect_. Charlotte Piper would be the girl who sits up straight, does ballet, and wears tights as part of her daily wardrobe. I, on the other hand, screamed slouchy slob in old jeans.

"What if they ask about my old schools?" I asked worriedly, biting my lip in anxiety. Pressure and I weren't the best of friends.

Bex shrugged. "They won't. Trust me. The Gallagher Academy is filled with snotty Upper East Siders. They'll care more about your money than your academics."

"And if they do?" Man, I was screwed. I had a feeling that Charlotte Piper with the accountant mother wouldn't be among the most well off students.

Solomon cleared his throat. "Then you give them these numbers." He slid a a piece of paper to me. "Each of the numbers here from your," He smiled a bit, "_previous schools _go to either me, Abby, Rachel, or Walter. But like Miss Baxter said, it's not _what_ you know over at Gallagher," his voice dropped ominously, "it's _who _you know."

Bex brightened immediately. "Lucky for us, it's pretty easy to make up the right people to know." That idea relaxed me. This was their job to make sure that I was perfectly assimilated in my new life. My job was to be smart enough not to get caught.

I pulled my gaze from the window. "Is there any reason in particular that I'm going to Gallagher?" From what I understood from the Gallagher Academy school manual, this was a really prestigious school. They don't just accept anybody.

"It's exclusive," Solomon began contemplatively, "it's hard to get into. Literally. Their school security is top notch and it would be nothing short of a miracle for somebody to break in there unnoticed. We also have a few ex-members of the WPP stationed there to keep an eye on you." My breathing went normal again at that comfort. "You couldn't have found a safer school if you tried."

Bex snorted. "They better have great security. The tuition there is ridiculous. We pulled a few strings and called in some favors to make yours free." My face grew hot, I didn't want to be a liability. She caught me blushing. "No worries, Jonas hacked into the system to change it. It was just a matter of getting a pass code." I don't know if those words were meant to calm me down or not.

"We're here," the driver announced quietly.

The limo came to a smooth halt in front of a building. The place was like the others around it, but the size of it was what made my eyes go wide and my knees go weak. With ivy lining the walls and Roman-esque columns, I felt like this was the textbook definition of luxury.

Bex and Solomon were not so awed. Solomon reached behind him and pulled a simple black backpack out. "Here are your books and any other materials you may need. Including your uniform." I felt my heart sank for a moment at the word _uniform, _but maybe it wasn't that bad. At least I would look the same as everybody else.

Before the driver could open my door, I turned to Bex with a puzzled expression. She didn't have a bag or a sheet with her cover on it, she didn't even move towards the door. "Are you coming?" I asked my bodyguard.

She shook her head. "Can't." She shot a quick glance at Solomon. "For safety reasons. Plus, Zach, Jonas, and I have to do some recon at the Plaza hotel. We got some word of suspicious activity that might have to do with your case." Any comfort they have given me left as quickly as it came. There was absolutely no way I was stepping into Gallagher without her. I was so close having a panic attack that I almost didn't hear her mutter to herself, "_Recon is bloody boring._" I doubted Solomon heard her.

"My safety isn't a good enough reason?" I said, almost with a whine that I tried to cover up. "I mean, I thought bodyguards were supposed to stay with me the whole time—"

"And they will," Solomon cut in, "_outside _of school. The Gallagher Academy only accepts about twenty percent of applicants, some who are certified geniuses, some with money. I guarantee that one student being admitted this late in the year will be news, but admitting _two _students is risky. We can't afford to be risky." My face fell. "But I assure you," he said in an attempt to calm my nerves, "you are perfectly safe in the school." The driver opened the door for me.

I didn't exactly believe his words, but I nodded my head as if I did. Those ex-WPP members better be as good as they say. Without another word, I gathered my bag and swung my legs out the open door. I took only one look back at the two in the limo. Bex shot me reassuring, semi-apologetic grin. Solomon gave a solemn nod of the head, eyes as vague as ever. With those two parting looks, I took in a deep breath and walked towards the school.

* * *

**The Gallagher Academy**

**7:48 AM**

**---  
**

"I do hope that you'll find the Gallagher Academy to be most suitable," Headmistress Buckingham drawled, as she escorted me to the auditorium. The headmistress was tall and severe, with white hair pulled back in a tight bun and a permanently stern expression on her face.

I had to give this school credit, they gave my schedule and the basic rundown of what level of excellency (answer: the highest) they expected from me. Every Tuesday, the entire school gathered in the auditorium to hear important announcements. I was sure that my arrival would be one of them, if Solomon's speech in the car was any indication.

The halls of my new school were just as fancy as the exterior. My shoes squeaked on the marble floors, but I was too busy staring at the portraits of students in the past to notice. Senators, scientists, entertainers—you name it, the Gallagher Academy has a graduate for it.

"We don't usually accept students this late in the year," she paused, looking over my rumpled uniform with a grim expression, _"_but we were very impressed with your academic background. All upstanding institutes, I presume?"

I bit back a smile. "Very upstanding," I answered smoothly, "but very secluded." Not a lie at all.

She nodded like this was exactly what she was thinking, as if those oh so fancy schools weren't just names made up by a seventeen year old spy. "Wonderful. After the weekly announcements, I have arranged for a student to show you around the school. I expect that you will assimilate at Gallagher in no time at all."

Almost on cue, a very petite blonde girl showed up at my side. The headmistress beamed at her, which I assumed wasn't very common. "Miss Piper," It took me a moment to realize she was talking to me, "this is Elizabeth Sutton, a model student. " The girl blushed at the compliment. "She will be your guide here. I expect that you two will get along swimmingly." _Swimmingly?_

Buckingham gave me a curt nod before walking away to the teachers' entrance to the auditorium. I looked at this Elizabeth chick, who was still blushing. _Great_, I thought, _stick me with the shy girl. Make it harder for me to actually socialize._

Until she talked.

"Welcome to Gallagher!" she practically shrieked, causing my heart to jump. For a girl who was practically the size of my thumb, she had an extremely loud voice. "I'm Liz. Well, actually Elizabeth Lee Sutton, but everybody calls me Liz. You must be Charlotte! Oh, Professor Buckingham told us about you! Wow, you moved here all the way from Seattle? That's really far. 2841.12 miles, if you want to get exact. But, I hope you like the school so far! Gallagher is a really elite school, one out of two students here will get into an Ivy—"

I held up my hands to try to get her to stop. The girl was speaking a mile a minute, I could hardly understand her. "Good to meet you too, Liz," I said slowly. Then again, anything sounds slow when you're talking to somebody who sounds like she's being fast forwarded.

"What's your class schedule?" she queried, gesturing at the manila folder in my hands. Somebody back at the penthouse had created my schedule, so I wasn't very psyched to see what I ended up with.

Still, I obliged her request. "Advanced physics, advanced trigonometry, world history, American literature, psychology, and..." I paused with a frown. "_Art._ In that order." Advanced physics and trig I could handle, I was a total math and science geek at heart. But _art? _It's almost a given that I suck at something that requires using the right side of the brain.

Liz grinned brightly. "I have the same schedule. Except for art. I decided to take anatomy and physiology. You know, it's a college credit class, might as well get it out of the way—

She was cut off (thank goodness) by a chiming noise in the background. Liz squealed (really!), "Oh, it's time for the assembly! Let's go, we need good seats." With that, she grabbed my arm with more strength than expected and pulled me along with her to the auditorium.

What did I just get myself into?

* * *

"It is my honor to introduce our newest student," The headmistress announced from her gold podium on the stage, "Charlotte Piper, a junior. Welcome to the Gallagher Academy, Miss Piper." The school's population was smaller than I expected, with the junior class only having about fifty people. That meant fifty heads whipped around to get a good look at the girl who managed to get into their school on such short notice.

"_How did she get in? My cousin Elise has been on the waiting list since the sixth grade!"_

_"I saw her come in a limo this morning, she's got to be loaded. She probably bought her way in."_

_"Nah, she's already hanging out with Sutton. She must be a genius."_

The whispers of my new classmates burned in my ears. It's one thing to have a few people talking about you, but this was too much to handle at eight AM in the morning. Solomon and Bex weren't kidding when they said it was an exclusive school. While the other girls wore the same uniform as me, they accessorized it in such a way that made mine look like I fished it out of a trash can, a feat that their haughty expressions only boosted. A few boys looked me over, as if considering whether or not I was worth their time. I guess I wasn't, seeing as the way they turned away from me with vast disinterest.

It was like Roseville High, except with more money to fund their apathy.

I kept my gaze on Headmistress Buckingham and the other teachers up there, willing my eyes to stay completely on them. If I could make it through this dumb assembly I would be okay. I was so focused on ignoring the other juniors that I didn't notice the doors of the auditorium open with a loud bang. I didn't notice Liz's bony elbow jabbing me in the side to get my attention. I didn't notice the collective gasps or buzz of frantic whispers from the people around me.

Most of all, I didn't notice the boy and girl who had captured the attention of the entire school.

I raised my eyebrows in mild surprise. To be honest, with all that's happened, it's pretty hard to surprise me these days. "Who are they?" I whispered to Liz, watching the pair take the two seats farthest away from the other juniors. The headmistress threw a stern look at the pair and cleared her throat, and something told me that their late arrivals weren't so out of character.

Liz nodded her head at the girl. With one look, I could see why she garnered a lot of second glances. She was gorgeous, with glossy black hair, movie star good looks, and legs that seemed to go for days. But, her face or legs weren't what made me give her another glance. It wasn't the way that her combat boots and diamond nose stud that so clearly violated school dress code. It was the way she just didn't seem to care.

"That's Macey McHenry," she said, speaking rather slow for once.

This influx of beauty didn't bother me so much any more. "And the boy?" I murmured. While the girl was being regarded with enthusiasm by the boys, the guy at her side seemed to have all of the girls' attention. He was handsome, with dark blonde hair falling into his eyes, a striking face, and a deep golden tan that just had to be from an exotic vacation. Unlike that Macey girl, he wore his school uniform exactly as the other guys. But he just wore it _better._

"That's Grant_," _Liz sighed in a way that told me she'd kill to be in Macey's seat right now.

I frowned a bit. Grant whispered something into Macey's ear, and she responded with a loud laugh; the teachers on the stage were not amused. "Are they together?" I said, unsure, "like a couple?"

Liz stifled a snort. "No, they're not. Lucky for everyone else, huh?" She was back to speaking at her normal speed, despite speaking so quietly that I had to strain to hear her. "They're half siblings. Their dad is William McHenry. You know, McHenry Enterprises? Macey's mom is a cosmetics heiress, and Grant's mom was a former model. He divorced them both, of course. But, they live with him, I think."

She inhaled deeply, while I vaguely remembered hearing the phrase '_McHenry Enterprises' _on CNN or something. "From what Kim Lee's told me, they just got back from vacationing in Madrid or Nice or somewhere in Europe. I mean, who just runs off on vacation in the middle of the year—"

She was cut off once more, this time by the teachers dismissing us from the assembly. The auditorium erupted in chatter, some about me, but mostly about the McHenrys. I followed Liz to the door, even though we were swept up in the crowd. Somewhere in midst of the mob, I had lost Liz and bumped straight into the subjects of our previous conversations. How lucky. Not.

"Sorry," I mumbled, after I collided nearly head first with Grant. Seeing as he was much taller than me, I had just bumped my head on his shoulder, nothing to call the emergency room about. In typical fashion, I had dropped all of my school papers all over the marble floor. "Shit," I cursed myself for doing something so clumsy one hour into my day.

Grant shrugged it off, like strange girls knock into him all the time. I didn't doubt it. "No problem," he said coolly. He bent down to pick up the stray papers at his feet. Macey barely looked up from her cell phone, only gazing at me for about half a second. Probably checking the new blood.

He handed me my papers without another word. I would have said thank you, but being up close to somebody who looked like _that _was enough to short circuit that part of my brain that allows me to function normally. Up close, I could see the family resemblance between Macey and Grant. Vague, but it was still there. The two had the same wide, ocean blue color was so bright I was actually taken aback. This wasn't something you saw everyday.

I hadn't realize I was just out right staring at them, not just staring, _studying. _With a blush, I reverted my gaze back to my papers. So much for being normal and inconspicuous.

"Thanks," I sputtered out. It was too little too late, as the McHenrys had disappeared to somewhere in the school, probably weirded out by all of the gawking. _Oh well, _I thought to myself, pulling out my schedule. Good thing my sense of direction was spot on, I was going to need all the skill I could get to make it to my first period class.

But, as I strolled through the spacious corridors, I could feel an odd feeling in my stomach. Through these past couple days, I've gone through a lot of emotions: worry, fear, and shock topping the list. This one, I recognized immediately, was not any of the above.

It was a realization. An epiphany.

Those eyes were familiar, and I may not have a supersonic memory or genius IQ like Bex or Jonas or Zach, but I wouldn't have forgotten a detail like that. There had to be a very good reason that of all of the details about the McHenrys, the eyes were the only things that really hit me. Something in those eyes had set off a million little shock waves and alarms through my system. There was a reason my palms were sweating and my stomach lurched.

I had seen those eyes before, I was almost positive about it.

From _where_, however, was the next question.

* * *

**an: ooh, plot twist. or foreshadowing. forgive me, i sleep in my english class. my teacher has a soothing voice and my book makes for the best pillow.**

**i hope you all liked this chapter, its sort of scattered. but hey, that's sort of the point xD. i changed the name of the ritzy private school from patridge day to uh, the gallagher academy. just for kicks. i figured "why the hell not?"  
**

**next chapter has more zach, for sure. and jonas! i can't get enough of that nerd. **

**be sure to tell me what you all thought of it. liked it? hated it? tell me about it :D**

**mucho thanks to all that have reviewed and put up with my weird updating schedule, you all rock!  
**

**-- asha (:**

**ps: make sure you check out all of the entries in the _epic challenge _(italicized, what up?) i just read a lot of them and they are seriously top notch. i wrote one for that too, just in case you can't get enough of my word vomit xD. the entries are all listed on kiwiosity's profile. go read! and feel epic!**


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